


Nat 20

by Boo_theGhost



Category: Original Work
Genre: DnD Play, DnD Players, Dungeons and Dragons, Mild Horror, Original work - Freeform, Other, Short Story, Violence, Writing practice, dnd, implied rape, workshop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19770262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boo_theGhost/pseuds/Boo_theGhost
Summary: This is a story I wrote for a workshop in my Creative Fiction class. This is a story about Maggie, an avid DnD player. She goes home alone late at night, and well... it doesn't go well."Most DnD groups would play straight on eight pm to sunrise, not stopping until they had to go to work the next day, or sometimes the day after that day. In their glory days, this group had played through a whole weekend, from six pm on friday to midnight Sunday night.That was when the problem started, back when they would play well into three or four in the morning Maggie found she was being followed home. She thought, for a time, that it was nothing but paranoia. Then it happened again, and again. Once or twice she’d gotten a glimpse of her stalker, and each time it had been the same man.  When she came forward to the group, they had initially been hesitant to heed her fears."This is the first work I've ever posted on ao3, I hope it goes well!Warning: implied rape, violent descriptions, not for the faint of heart.Criticism/reviews appreciated.





	Nat 20

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a workshop piece, detailing the experience of a young woman being attacked on her way home. It can be triggering, please be cautious. Trigger warnings: violence, implied rape, attack, etc.

**Nat 20 Crit**

“Showoff,” huffed the druid. The barbarian had just rolled two nat 20s and destroyed a horde of goblins before any other party members had a chance to flex their muscles.

“Not my fault I’m the best,” the barbarian grinned at the druid, “don’t be jealous, tiny, you’ll catch up eventually.”

The barbarian abruptly steals the druid’s bow, holding it high over his head, a height the druid couldn’t reach. None of this seemed to bother the half-dragon mage, however, who went about her merry way trying to find whatever useful items she could loot off the goblin corpses.

“Can I roll to kick him in the nuts?” Maggie, the druid, asked.

“With a strength of thirteen,” the Dungeon Master, Jaden, sighed, “unless you get a nat 20 you’d probably just make him giggle, but go ahead and roll.”

Jaden had long since given up on trying to get the players to keep in character.

She rolled a three. The barbarian laughed.

“Can I roll to have a tree kick him in the nuts?”

“Hey that’s not fair!”

“Fine,” Jaden groaned, “roll for spells, I guess.”

“Nat 20, bitch.”

“No way that’s fair!” The barbarian shouted.

“Ivangelin, the four-foot nothing elf druid, tries to kick Gorn, the seven-foot three orc, in the nuts. She misses and kicks his shin. He loses half of a health. She gets annoyed and asks the tree to kick him in the nuts for her, the tree uses a root to hit him in the nuts, hard enough that he’s sent flying. Gorn drops the bow and it falls back into Ivangelin’s hands. He now has one health left.”

“What the fuck!?”

“You kind of deserved it, Tom,” Jaden glanced over at him pointedly.

“Never mock a druid. We will fuck you up.” Maggie smirked.

Tom groaned, “Why’d you have to go and almost kill me, Mags? What if there’s a second attack?”

“Want me to finish killing you? I aim my bow at Gorn--”

“No! Nope! I’m good!”

“Yo, idiots, it’s midnight,” The mage, Liz, snapped at them both.

“No it’s not, Liz, it’s not even midday, we literally started the campaign in the morning and it hasn’t been an hour since we began fighting the goblins--”

“It’s midnight in real life, you moron.”

“Oh. Shit.”

Maggie sighed, turning to look out the window of the small abandoned 24 hour diner they played at. She couldn’t look back at her friends, feeling a twinge of guilt at the fun having to end so early.

The street lamp outside was flickering with a bulb about to die, few cars passed on the road, the moon was high over head; a striking crescent of light. This part of the city was so beautiful during the day, how could it be so creepy at night?

That’s a side effect of living in outer city Denver, she supposed, or outer city anywhere. A place that was made to be alive, so close to the constant ramblings of the downtown. In the dead of night, when only the sleeping beggars and the occasional night worker stirred, the city felt wrong. The same way an empty school feels wrong, silence in a place usually crowded and loud.

Maggie sighed, not looking at her companions, “I need to head home then.”

Tom scoffed, “is this about your paranoia again?”

Liz shot him a look that could have curdled milk. They’d had this talk before, the first time Maggie brought up her fears of traveling alone at night, and after some grumbling Tom settled back into his seat. 

Most DnD groups would play straight on eight pm to sunrise, not stopping until they had to go to work the next day, or sometimes the day after that day. In their glory days, this group had played through a whole weekend, from six pm on friday to midnight Sunday night. 

That was when the problem started, back when they would play well into three or four in the morning Maggie found she was being followed home. She thought, for a time, that it was nothing but paranoia. Then it happened again, and again. Once or twice she’d gotten a glimpse of her stalker, and each time it had been the same man. When she came forward to the group, they had initially been hesitant to heed her fears. Liz had stood up for her though.

Not that Liz could really understand what she felt.

Maggie, much like her character, was small and un-intimidating. She knew that she was prey in the eyes of most people. Unlike her character, Maggie couldn’t summon a flock of crows to peck out the eyes of her attackers, she wasn’t a wise elf with centuries of battle experience. She was a five foot two, one hundred and ten pounds, twenty-something year old, who had taken one self defence class and had never been in a real fight.

It sucked being the one everyone had to accommodate for, but Maggie supposed it would suck more to be mugged or worse at four in the morning.

Jaden began packing his things, “We’ll continue from here next time.”

“See you all,” Maggie forced a smile, standing to pick up her bag, “I’m gonna go try to catch the late bus.”

“Don’t get mugged!” Tom called after, laughing like he had just told a hilarious joke.

Tom was a tall ex-football player who’d gotten his college degree in physical education. He never had to fear people following him home. He didn’t understand.

Liz was a similar case, taller than Tom and built like a brick house with muscles born from intense mixed martial arts, one would almost pity the poor fool who pulls a knife on her.

Maggie, in all her five foot two, 100 lbs even glory, wasn’t much of a fighter. That being said, she was proud. Tom’s “joke” made her cringe and look firmly towards the door as she walked away.

“I won’t. I’m gonna go so I can catch the bus, see you all next time! Get home safe!” She forced a cheery smile at her friends, waved to the sleepy hostess, and left the diner to walk down the sidewalk away from the glowing halo of quiet night life she had just been protected by.

She ignored the snickers and half hearted goodbye’s of her friends behind her as the doors closed.

Her eyes narrowed, pupils dilating, adrenaline beginning to force her heart to beat faster in her chest, as she walked further from that safe place. No matter how many times she did this, she always felt fear. She felt eyes burning almond shaped holes in the back of her head, the darkness was closing in around her like dozens of grasping hands. Her breathing turned into harsh pants.

It was a warm summer night tonight, despite the sun’s absence. The moon was bright, cutting the darkness of the sky. Street lamps unevenly lit the sidewalk in semicircles, and the starless sky seemed to loom above her. Each step she took out of the light made another rush of adrenaline course through her veins. 

By the time she made it to the late night bus stop her hands were clenched so hard around her keys she was surprised she didn’t break them, the keys that is. It would be ludicrous to break her hands by holding keys between her fingers too tightly. Though, maybe it would be possible. Could you break bones just from the shear force of your own muscles?

Her mind began to drift as she huddled in the small box meant to be some sort of protection from the elements for bus goers. Her thoughts began to track back to the events of the night, thinking about how life would be so much easier if she had a wealth of ancient knowledge, or some sort of magic, or fighting skills. She would never have to walk quickly at night, never have to walk with her keys between her fingers, pressing little zig-zag imprints into her hands, never be the reason for killing the fun early because she was too weak.

Maggie hated that. Feeling weak. She was proud, and self sufficient, but here she sat. Alone, with the creeping sense of impending doom sliding into her mind.

She pretended it didn’t bother her to be the one everyone compensates for. She pretended that it didn’t bother her walking home alone in the dark, that she could handle any threat that came her way. She couldn’t. She hated it.

Sometimes she wondered why she had to be taught to protect herself. Why can’t others be taught not to attack people? She knew what people would say, where they would place the blame. She had friends who would blame the patriarchy, others who would say “people are dicks,” but those just seemed like too convenient excuses.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by alarm bells blaring in her mind and the faintest scuff of a foot on concrete, then another. Her head whipped to the side and her gaze landed on a shadow standing to the side of a street lamp. Their face was hidden, wearing a nondescript grey hoodie and blue jeans. Her skin began to prickle and she stood from the bench stepping to the side of the box, she would not allow herself to be cornered.

Her hands grasped for the pepper spray she had in her bag and she tightened her fist. She wouldn’t become a damsel, damnit.

The man, she could only assume it was a man, stepped closer slowly, avoiding the light like it might burn him. Maggie stepped further away into the circle of light of the lamp post opposite the bus box from his.

_ Go for the throat and the eyes _ , her father’s voice echoed in her head,  _ if you kill him then all the better. _

Keys to the throat had to be a critical hit, especially when paired with pepper spray to the eyes, the keys would puncture the windpipe, the pepper spray would blind her opponent.

Maggie briefly wondered what it would feel like to kill someone, feel flesh collapse. Would she cut an artery and have blood squirt on her face like in Game of Thrones? Or would it be cleaner, like a Star Wars death? Would the windpipe collapse? For that matter, would she even be able to puncture skin in her inexperienced violent flailing?

The man’s eyes trained on her hand, her keys pressed between her knuckles, seeming to know her plan. He was formulating one of his own, she could see the glint of the whites of his eyes as they moved over her.

She felt like prey, a rabbit waiting for the fox to pounce.

Her muscles tensed, her nostrils flared as her lungs began to take in more and more oxygen.

The man moved, throwing his body towards her and Maggie screamed, pepper spray flying up as he covered his face getting closer. Closer. Closer, the whites of his eyes shone violently, red lines making them look like a road map and Maggie leapt back.

Light flooded the small bus stop as the night bus quickly pulled in.

The man lurched back and briefly the light shone over his face, an expression of anger making her blood run cold, as he abruptly turned and ran.

She forced herself to turn and leap onto the bus, paying the fare and taking a seat before she had time to hesitate. She couldn’t afford hesitation.

She knew that face.

She’d seen him in her nightmares, she’d seen him on the sidewalk of her street, she’d seen him follow her home, follow her to the bus stop, countless times before.

He’d been arrested three months ago on charges of sexual assault, but released shortly after the case was thrown out of court. The woman who made the allegations was ridiculed, ignored. She faced so much backlash, people threatening her on media, people calling her a whore who didn’t know the difference between rape and consent, people saying she was delusional, mentally retarded, that she’d attempted suicide after the case was dismissed.

Maggie had begun closely following the case after her run in with the man the first time, angry and afraid all at once. 

Maggie wasn’t Ivangelin, Maggie couldn’t fight a horde of goblins. Maggie couldn’t destroy the monster she so craved to, her righteous spirit was not enough to beat a person like that. She just... couldn’t.

She shuddered as the bus doors closed and the lights went out. She saw his shadowy figure behind the box, and felt that tug, that pain in her heart. She knew no one would stop him, that he would go and attack some other woman. The courts didn’t care. 

She shuddered and hugged her knees to her chest, a grown woman hugging herself like a child.

She knew she wouldn’t sleep that night.

In her dreams that night, Liz saw a man and a small, red haired woman. She saw him beating her, her bloody body falling to the ground. Saw him ripping at her clothes, and when she tried to fight, saw him drive a set of keys into her throat, blood spurting from the wound over her now naked and broken body.

Liz watched all of this as if she was in a glass box being prevented from intervening. She slammed her fists against the box and screamed and it did nothing. She tried to break out, to come to the woman’s aid, but she couldn’t. She could do nothing.

She woke in a cold sweat, the image of her own face bloody and bruised, her throat with key-shaped punctures, like some sort of sick door handle. Her throat hurt, her voice hoarse when she cried in the moments to bring herself back from that dream.

Morning light flooded through the curtains of her small one bedroom apartment, and she shakily stood, rinsed her face in cold water. She couldn’t look at her reflection.

She began her morning routine, put on the coffee pot, text the group chat with an announcement of waking, turn on the TV to the morning news and make herself a bowl of granola and greek yogurt.

She sat on the couch, eating her yogurt, and watched the news. Trump had fucked something up overseas again, big shocker. Putin did something internationally illegal, big whoop. Someone else was threatening nuclear war, that seemed to be a daily occurrence at this point.

“And now on local news,” the salt and pepper haired reporter said, “a woman was found dead this morning near an apartment complex in…”

Her ears began to ring.

“The perpetrator was nowhere to be found, police say her body was discovered in the morning by a jogger. They say she was badly beaten, raped and had her throat punctured with what appeared to be a ring of keys.”

Her bowl clattered to the ground, free from her shaking hands as she stared at the picture of the woman on the screen. Liz remembered that picture, she’d taken it. The woman looked beautiful, red hair flashing, and a toothy, mischievous grin making her eyes glint.

“The woman, later identified as Maggie…”

The rest of the announcers words drowned out as Liz could do nothing but stare.

She prayed, for the Maggie’s sake, it had been a critical hit.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews/opinions would be much appreciated!


End file.
